The Devil's bed

The door of the suite shook as she slammed it behind her.

Clay Dixon’s legs were shaky. He sat down. He felt as if he’d taken a long fall, and the wind had been knocked from him. He stared dumbly at the door, at the place where his wife had walked out on him. He understood quite well that at the moment, not only the fate of his marriage, but also of his reelection, perhaps even of his place in history, rested in her angry hands.

chapter twenty-six

Clay Dixon sat at his desk in the Oval Office, scanning a State Department memo that dealt with the upcoming Pan-American summit meeting. Beyond the window at his back lay a dripping sky. A storm front had moved through in the dark of early morning bringing with it a steady rain. Dixon’s whole body ached. Whenever a front moved through, it was a curse, and the old football injuries rose up inside him, working some kind of painful voodoo on his joints and bones.

There was a knock at the open door. The president’s chief of staff, John Llewellyn, stepped in. Senator William Dixon stood just behind him.

“Mr. President, may we have a few minutes of your time?” Llewellyn asked.

The president put aside the memo. “In five minutes, we have a meeting to discuss the Pan-American summit, but until then I’m all yours, John.”

Leaning on his cane, Senator Dixon entered the Oval Office with Llewellyn and sat down.

The president sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You look like a delegation. What’s up?”

“So she’s left you.” The senator’s words were rife with both satisfaction and disapproval.

“I beg your pardon?”

“No use denying it. Kate’s left you.”

The president looked at his watch. “You have exactly three minutes, Dad.”

“This won’t take long.” The senior senator from Colorado folded his hands atop his cane. They were huge hands. Although blemished by age spots, they still had a powerful, crushing look. “Was she worth it?”

A sick feeling began to knot his stomach, but Clay Dixon tried not to let his face show anything.

“Ms. Channing,” the senator clarified. “Was she worth throwing away the presidency?”

“There’s absolutely nothing between Lorna and me except friendship and the work of this administration.”

“If you say so.”

“And the presidency is secure.”

“Is it? What do you imagine Wayne White would do if he knew your wife had left you? He’d gut you like a fish, Clayboy.”

Llewellyn stood behind the senator’s chair. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me, Mr. President?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell, John. It’s a misunderstanding between Kate and me, and it’s under control.”

The senator said, “Is the First Lady coming back?”

“As soon as her father has recovered.”

The senator smiled smugly. “My information is that she’s through with you, had all she can stomach.”

“Kate’s angry right now, but she’s not stupid. She’ll calm down in a few days and we’ll talk things through. We’re handling it.”

“We?” Llewellyn said. “You mean Bob Lee.”

“Yes, John. I asked Bobby to help me on this one.”

“I’ve got to tell you, Mr. President, I feel so far out of the loop I might as well be on the moon.”

“This situation is personal not political.”

Senator Dixon said, “In your position, there’s no separation. Don’t you understand that? What if she decides to tell the press the things she knows? Your presidency is hanging by a thread, son. And that wife of yours, she’s a sharp pair of scissors poised to snip.” He shook his head and offered his son a look dripping with sympathy. “You should have told me right away. Haven’t I been there beside you all the way since Alan Carpathian died?” He spoke gently, in a tone probably meant to be fatherly but that struck Clay Dixon as foully patronizing.

“Maybe I don’t need you there anymore,” the president said.

“Don’t need me?” For a moment, the senator appeared stung. But he composed himself and laughed. “You go right ahead and think that if you want to. In the meantime, we’ll just go about the business of getting you reelected.”

“How do you propose to do that? How much more slime do we all have to wade through?”

“You listen to me, Clayboy, and listen good. I’m not speaking as your father now. There’s too much riding on this presidency for you to throw it away with your stupid sexual shenanigans or your little polished brass ideals.”

“Take it easy, Senator,” Llewellyn said.

“No, I won’t take it easy.” William Dixon sat back in disgust. “You want to know the truth? The best thing that could have happened was if that nut Moses had done what he set out to do.”

The president went hot, fire in every cell of his body. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Dead, her lips are sealed, and you’re a widower. Huge sympathy vote factor.”

“Bill,” Llewellyn said. “That’s enough.”

The president stood. “Out of my office, Senator. I want you out now.”

The elder Dixon cast his son a steely glare.

“Now,” the president said.